


Teachable Moments

by marshmallownose



Category: House of Anubis
Genre: Alfie is an English teacher, Amber teaches fashion/substitutes, Eddie is the French teacher, Fabian is a History teacher, Jerome is the Business Studies teacher, Joy teaches Journalism, KT is the drama teacher, Mara is a science teacher (specifically bio), Mick is the head of athletics, Multi, Nina is the School Nurse, One-Shot Series, Patricia is a guidance counselor, Teacher AU, Willow is an art teacher, teacher shenanigans, their students are crazy fun too, they’re teachers at Amun Boarding School instead of students lmao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-10 11:01:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15948011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marshmallownose/pseuds/marshmallownose
Summary: A lot of things can happen when the students become the teachers... || A series of loosely related Teacher!AU one-shots (cross-posted on Fanfic.net)





	1. Chicken Salad || Fabina

**Author's Note:**

> All the info you need is in the tags, but basically this is an AU in which all of the Anubis House students are instead teachers at the school, and they all teach different things. It’s a loosely related one-shot series, and I will be taking requests for different interactions and scenarios. Make sure to drop a comment!  
> First up, a Fabina scene!

_Brrrriiiing_

 

“ _Whoa, whoa_ ,” exclaimed Fabian, interrupting his own lecture as his World History fifth period class began to stuff their notebooks into their book bags frantically, “the bell doesn’t dismiss you, _I_ do.”

 

The class froze, not taking their eyes of him. Then, they ever so “discreetly” continued putting their school supplies away.

 

Fabian sighed, shaking his head with a little laugh. “Class dismissed,” he relented, raising his hands in surrender. His students resumed speed, and practically stampeded out the door.

 

Fabian rounded the side of his desk, reaching for the eraser to clear whiteboard of that class’ notes, when he heard a giggle from the doorway.

 

“‘The bell doesn’t dismiss you, I do’? Come on, Fabian, you’re not _that_ teacher, are you?”

 

He turned around, blushing when he saw Nina Martin leaning on the doorframe, a brown paper bag dangling from her right hand.

 

“Ah, Miss Martin,” he greeted nervously, gesturing to one of the desk tables. “Is it lunch already?”

 

It was no secret that Fabian was enamored with the school nurse. Everybody knew it, even his students. Once, one of his students pretended to have an ear infection, and begged Fabian to take her to the nurse. When the got there, she’d made sure they’d had an interaction, then miraculously gotten better, skipping back to class with a proud smile on her face.

 

“Fabian, really, you can call me Nina,” she said, taking a seat and putting the bag down. “And to answer your question, yes. For you, anyway—I was supposed to take my lunch break an hour ago, but I knew you didn’t get off until noon, so...” She gestured around the classroom.

 

Fabian blushed. “Sorry. Nina,” he corrected; Nina smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair away from her face. “So, any sick kids show up at your office?”

 

Nina chuckled. “Not sick kids, but there was a was an incident in KT’s class where a Shakespearean sword fight got a little too real. I had to ice a boy’s nose.”

 

Fabian’s eyes widened and he laughed. “I knew she said they were working on a realistic death scene, but I didn’t think she meant realistic in that sense,” he joked.

 

“Honestly,” Nina sighed, still giggling. “Anyway, let’s talk about something other than work.”

 

“Yeah,” Fabian agreed. “Good idea.”

 

They sat for a moment in silence, before simultaneously bursting into laughter. “Wow,” Nina managed to get out, “are we really so bad at conversation that we can’t think of anything else to talk about?”

 

Fabian stopped laughing with a soft sigh. “I guess so...”

 

They smiled softly at each other for a long moment, before Nina suddenly blinked rapidly. “Ah, um, I brought us both lunch,” she said, averting her eyes and opening the bag. “Chicken salad.” She pulled out two containers full of food.

 

Fabian bit back a grin, taking the food gratefully. “How did you know I’d forget my lunch again?”

 

“Keyword is ‘ _again_ ’, Fabian. You always forget your lunch. Mick told me this morning you’d forgotten, so I figured...” Nina trailed off, smiling shyly. “I hope you like it.”

 

Fabian popped open the lid and grabbed the plastic spoon. “I’m sure I’ll love it. Thank you.”

 

They ate together gladly, chatting softly about this and that for the next forty-five minutes.

 

When the bell rang for sixth period, both Fabian and Nina winced, giving each other a long look.

 

“Hey...” Nina said hesitantly, both of them hearing students begin to fill the halls. “Do you maybe want to go for drinks sometime, in town? There’s a nice little pub that I’ve been wanting to check out.”

 

Fabian‘s heart thumped loudly in his chest. “Yes! Er, I mean, yes. Yes, I’d love to go out with you—erm, not like—you know? Yes.”

 

What a disaster, he groaned internally.

 

Nina was blushing. “Yeah! It’s a date. I mean! Not a date, date, but, uh, a date? Yes. Date.”

 

“JUST KISS ALREADY!” cried a voice from the doorway, and both teachers turned to see they had an audience of about fifteen teenagers, all wearing amused smiles.

 

“Georgina, do you want detention?” Fabian chastised, mortified.

 

“Do you want to be single for the rest of your life?” she shot back.

 

Nina laughed, embarrassed. “Now, now, that’s no way to talk to Mr. Rutter, is it?” To Fabian, she smiled again, looking a lot more sure of herself. “It’s a date,” she said with resolve, tossing out the paper bag, and gently weaving her way through the crowd of students.

 

Fabian’s mouth hung open for a second, and his students giggled appreciatively, filing into the classroom. He came to, and pointed at Georgina. “Fifteen minutes after school.”

 

“Aw, _come on_ , Mr. Rutter!”

 


	2. Send Not Your Rejects || Peddie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patricia is sick and tired of the French teacher sending lazy kids to her office.

“Miss Williamson?”

 

Patricia looked up from her laptop and promptly groaned, half-closing the computer. “Julian, again? _Really?_ This is the fourth time this week.”

 

Julian bounced from foot to foot, looking only slightly sheepish as he brandished a piece of paper. “I have a pass.”

 

She sighed, rubbing her temples. “So you’ve had every day. Here, give it to me,” Patricia demanded, taking the pass, which Julian handed to her. “Let me guess: _Monsieur Miller_. Ah,” she continued, reading the signature, “of course he did. Tell me, Julian,”—he made a confirmative noise—“do you hate French class or does M. Miller hate _you?_ ”

 

Julian gave a non-committal shrug. “Both, I think. He’s pretty much got a pass ready for me when I walk in the door.”

 

Patricia smiled tightly. “Does he, now? Well,” she took a piece of paper from her drawer and scribbled a note out, ripping it off her notepad to hand to the student, “now, it’s my turn. Take this back to class, and give it to your teacher. I don’t want you down here unless you have a real problem.”

 

“What? No, I have a pass! I’m allowed to be here.”

 

Patricia drummed her fingers impatiently against the desk. “Not four days in a row, idio— _Julian_.” She caught herself at the last moment, not wanting another complaint filed with headmaster for name-calling. Mr. Sweet wasn’t very understanding of her excuse that _“The student really_ was _being a slimeball!”_

 

“You can’t do that, though! You’re supposed to let me stay down here if I have a note.”

 

“What’re you going to do?” Patricia asked dryly. “Report me to Guidance?”

 

Julian huffed, defeated, and snatched the note from between her fingers, storming out the door.

 

Patricia rolled her eyes again, reopening her laptop and hitting the space bar. The Epic Fails of 2021 video resumed.

* * *

There was a knock at her office door at the end of the day while she was packing up, and Patricia called for the individual to come in without looking up from her bag.

 

“Really, Yacker? ‘Stop sending your failures to me to deal with, Weaselface.’?” Eddie’s voice grated from the doorway, and Patricia grimaced.

 

“Stop giving me goofy nicknames,” she snapped, choosing to ignore the rest of his words. She turned to face him, bracing her hands behind her on the desk.

 

Eddie snorted, moving further into her office, and thus into her space. “Stop doing goofy stuff.”

 

“There’s nothing goofy about not wanting to deal with students who don’t have an actual reason for wanting my time. I have more important things to do than deal with lazy, loser kids. Or you, for that matter!” Patricia defended shortly, narrowing her eyes. “Julian is _your_ problem during _your_ French class, not mine.”

 

“You don’t understand how unbearable this kid is, Yacker,” Eddie groaned. “He just grates on my nerves, and his pronunciation is just—gah! He does not belong in a high level class.”

 

Patricia was unimpressed. “Not my problem, Eddie. Send him to Mr. Sweet if you really want him out of your hair.”

 

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you in charge of managing students’ schedules?”

 

She waved her hand dismissively, turning back to her packing. “Subtext. In any case, unless they have an appointment for an actual issue regarding education, don’t send them to me. Or I’ll have to schedule another official meeting, and you and I both know how boring those are.”

 

This was not the first issue Eddie had with Guidance—with her specifically. They’d had many of these similar discussions before, and Patricia was starting to think he was causing problems on purpose just to bother her.

 

“Well,” said Eddie, creeping ever closer, “how about we make it an _unofficial_ meeting. Let me take you out.”

 

“With a gun, I hope?” Patricia quipped, before realizing exactly what he’d just said. “Wait, _what?_ Me? Us?”

 

Eddie suddenly looked nervous, leaning away a little. That was very uncharacteristic, and Patricia suddenly felt as though the air was still in the little office. “I mean...if you wanna,” he backtracked, much less suave than before.

 

She bit her lip, averting her eyes. When she was a kid, she would have made a witty remark, pretended she hated him, and called it a day. But she had to admit...he was pretty cute...and she didn’t _really_ hate him. And apparently he didn’t hate Paatricia either. Did he maybe keep picking a fight with Guidance to see _her_?

 

Patricia made up her mind. “...Sure. Okay, sure. Just let me know, yeah?”

 

Eddie’s face shifted from nervous to surprised to a barely contained grin. “Okay!” he exclaimed, sounding delighted. “It’s a date, Yacker!”

 

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself,” she cautioned, punching him awkwardly on the shoulder.; he laughed softly. “And don’t send me any more of your rejects!” She paused. “And stop calling me ‘Yacker’!” Patricia called as an afterthought, only half joking.

 

He flashed a wink in her direction, backing out of the office, and she was once again surprised at this turn of events. “Wouldn’t dream of it, _Patricia_.”


	3. Sweetheart or Not || Amber & Willow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Willow is a loveable creep.

_“AMBER!”_

 

Amber jumped in her seat, nearly spilling her iced coffee all over her sketchbook. She pursed her lips tightly, placing the drink down safely on the opposite end of her desk.

 

“What is it, Willow?” she bit out sharply, long past trying to remain polite. Even the most regal women run out of patience, after all.

 

Willow, though, didn’t flinch at the edge to her voice, and skipped into her classroom, long strawberry blonde hair pulled up in a messy loop and paint smeared all over her clothes and face. Amber grimaced, hoping silently that she didn’t get too close to any of her or her students’ projects.

 

“I was wondering if you wanted to grab drinks at the pub this evening!” Willow chirped, grin stretching from ear to ear. “We don’t hang out enough, and I’m just dying to hear about your designs!”

 

Amber stared at the art teacher flatly, trying to find a way to politely say _‘Get the fuck away from me, you obsessive weirdo!’_ without coming off as a brat. Finally, she decided on: “Sorry, I’m very busy tonight. Daddy’s flown in from Milan—you know how it is—and he wants to have dinner with me at a delightful little bistro in the city.”

 

This was not the full truth. Mr. Millington would be arriving in two days time, and until then, the only evening plans Amber had until were getting positively hammered at her flat with Nina and Mara.

 

But Willow didn’t need to know about that.

 

Willow’s smile never faltered, though her tone dipped down an octave in disappointment. “Oh...that’s fine! Another night, okay?”

 

Amber smiled and nodded, having no intention of rescheduling. At first, Amber felt bad about avoiding Willow, but it really couldn’t be helped. After they had talked a few times in the teachers’ lounge, and traded numbers, Willow began texting her constantly: good morning texts, strings of flower emojis, Facebook memes—it was maddening!

 

Amber had confessed to KT one morning that she was considering filing a restraining order, to which KT had actually laughed. “She’s just trying to be friendly!” she had said, stirring her tea. “Willow’s a sweetheart.”

 

A sweetheart or not, Amber really _didn’t_ appreciate the bombardment of notifications or the wasting of her time during her free period.

 

Willow brightened even more, if possible, and reached into her apron pocket. “I have something for you!” Willow exclaimed, and Amber groaned. “It’s a little cat plushie made of real cat fur!” Willow pulled the deformed fuzzy blob out and presented it to Amber. “I collected it from my neighbors rubbish!” She giggled, seemingly ignorant to Amber’s unbridled disgust. “You know what they say! One man’s trash is another man’s—“

 

“ _DON’T!_ _Don’t_ finish that sentence,” Amber cried, one hand out in front of her while the other rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Just...Just thank you, Willow.”

 

Willow continued to grin, unperturbed. “You are so welcome, Amber.”

 

And with that, she placed the fuzz ball right in the center of Amber’s sketch book, and skipped out the door, back to the art room.

 

“I’m too nice,” Amber grumbled, glaring miserably at her contaminated sketches.

 


End file.
